


Peppermint

by SnakeChase



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-05-28 00:46:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6307126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnakeChase/pseuds/SnakeChase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being forced to work together, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger must find ways to tolerate each other. If they cannot get along, life will be a living hell. If they become too close, their friends will question their loyalty. If they refuse to work together, they'll fail the class. There's no easy way out of this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The book slipped from Hermione’s fingers and fell to the floor with a thud. She quickly scooped it up and tucked it into the crook of her arm. She rushed down the hallway as her pulse thumped away in her chest. As she passed a painting of a rather old sleeping wizard, she noticed the time on his watch. She had only a minute to get to class. She was going to be late. Hermione Granger was going to be late.  
As she veered around the corner, she was greeted by slamming into another student. Both of their piles of books scattered on the floor. Rage surged through Hermione’s veins.  
“Excuse me! I don’t know what on Earth you think you’re – Ron?”  
The red-headed Gryffindor looked up at his friend sheepishly. “Sorry, Hermione,” he mumbled. The two began gathering their books without really knowing which ones were which. It honestly didn’t matter at this point.  
“It’s alright, Ron…what are you running late for?” asked Hermione.  
Ron grabbed his last book and muttered, “Ancient Runes.” Hermione bit back a giggle as he rushed off in the opposite direction. He hated Ancient Runes, and his teacher wasn’t too fond of him because of it. As she pressed her books to her chest, she finally slipped into her Muggle Studies class. As soon as she walked in the room, all eyes were on her.  
"Oh, Merlin. I’m the last one. I’m never the last one," groaned Hermione’s conscience. She noticed a particularly pale student looking back at her from the front of the room. Malfoy. His predatory eyes didn’t leave her burning red face even after she sat down. She pretended not to notice, yet she wondered when he would assault her with a Mudblood insult. She felt almost numb to his remarks at this point.  
“Were you nearly late, Granger?” snarled the Slytherin. “Perhaps one day you’ll just skip altogether. Imagine the day Hermione Know-It-All Granger plays hooky.”  
“Just as soon as you help a little old witch across the street,” spat Hermione, while wearing a rather sinister smile. Malfoy raised his eyebrows.  
“Was that sarcasm, Gryffindork?” he sneered, wearing the same crooked grin. “You’re becoming more Slytherin every day. Perhaps you were sorted into the wrong house.”  
“Me, in Slytherin? Oh, that would be unfortunate, as you’d have to share your team members and points with the likes of me, a filthy-blooded Muggleborn.” Despite the darkness of the words she was using, Hermione felt a sense of power talking to Malfoy. Their clear hatred for each other had only helped build the rhythm of their arguments. Only with Malfoy could Hermione speak like this.  
“Alright class! Time to stop arguing and start learning,” Professor Burbage said loudly, shooting a look at the two students, the one in green and the one in red.


	2. Chapter 2

“Mister Malfoy,” the professor prompted. Malfoy lifted his head to the teacher’s stern gaze. “You perform well in other classes, as I understand. Professor Snape told me you have hopes of being Head Boy one day. But your grades in this class are less than exemplary, and you are not exactly acting like a fifth year. I’d like you and Miss Granger to meet up, here, where you two can have some peace and quiet. Perhaps she can help you learn something about Muggles, despite your obvious disdain for them.” She said this last sentence with fire in her eyes.   
“B-but, Professor, she was almost late today,” spluttered Malfoy. The teacher raised a hand to silence him. It was settled; Hermione would tutor Malfoy.   
Later that evening, the young witch and wizard met up on the first floor to find the professor missing. Hermione practically had to drag Malfoy through the doorway while he insisted, “she’ll never know whether we were here or not,” but she finally got him to sit down and pull out a notebook and quill.   
After the two had studied in near silence for a while, Malfoy dropped his quill. Hermione frowned at him. “You know, you’re going to have to actually study if you want to pass this course. I know the Malfoys have never had to actually work for anything before, but-”   
“Why do you care?” interrupted the Slytherin. Hermione blinked.   
“What do you mean?” she asked.   
“I mean, why do you care if I fail or pass? We could’ve easily skipped this little meeting, yet you drag me in here…why?”  
Hermione always had something to say. Yet now, she was at a loss for words. Why did she care? She licked her lips. “Well, I…I don’t want you cheating off my paper,” she answered. Malfoy tilted his head. It was a strange sight, his curiosity.   
“Why do I feel like you’re lying?” he asked. His voice was strangely low, gentle. Sincere.  
The Gryffindor cleared her throat. “If you only go by what you feel, you’ll never excel in your classes. Use your brain, Malfoy, or did you leave it in Professor Snape’s Potions class?”  
“Oh, so I’m the teachers’ pet? How dare you? God, you are so arrogant sometimes, Mudblood.” Malfoy’s sudden anger startled Hermione.   
“Well, I have a right to be, as you refuse to even try learning anything. What’s so wrong with Muggles anyway? Wait, wait. Do not answer that.” Hermione gathered her books and began storming towards the door.   
“Granger.”  
Hermione stopped.   
“I…I’m a Pureblood. I’ve been raised by Purebloods. You’re the closest thing to a Muggle that I’ve ever met-”  
“Thing?”  
“Person. You’re…a person. Not just a…Mudblood. Stay. I need your help.”


	3. Chapter 3

A few weeks had passed. Malfoy’s improvement in The History of Muggles was impressive, but not enough for Professor Burbage. She insisted the pair should keep working together.  
One morning, at breakfast, Ron sat across from Hermione and asked, “So, are you and Malfoy best friends now or something?” Hermione nearly choked on her toast.  
“I’d rather eat slugs than befriend him,” said Hermione. She looked at Ron, who had accidently cursed himself into vomiting the creatures once, and winked. He turned a rather deep shade of magenta.  
“You know, you’ve changed, Hermione,” Harry observed as he shoveled scrambled eggs into his mouth. Hermione knitted her eyebrows.  
“I have?”  
“I do believe so,” said a familiar voice. The trio looked up to see Nearly Headless Nick looming over the breakfast feast. He looked especially gloomy today.  
“How so?” retorted Hermione. Nick sighed.  
“Well, the Bloody Baron has been talking, and he says Malfoy couldn’t survive without you. I just hope you aren’t beginning to join the…Slytherins.” Nick shivered as he said this, despite ghosts lacking the ability to feel coolness or warmth.  
“Look, I’m just as loyal to Gryffindor as anyone…” Hermione started. She was distracted by a blonde boy carrying a plate of muffins back to his table.  
“Malfoy!” she called, rushing to meet him. He stopped, nearly dropping a muffin. “There’s a quiz coming up in The History of Muggles, and I want to make sure you’re ready. Have you been studying?”  
Malfoy put down his plate and placed a hand on Hermione’s forehead. She couldn’t help but gasp at his cold touch. “Are you feeling well, Granger? You’re acting rather odd, worrying about me.”  
She pushed his hand away. “I’m perfectly fine, Malfoy. And quit gossiping to the Bloody Baron about me.”  
“Oh please, I haven’t been gossiping.” Malfoy scoffed. “Besides, Scarhead here’s just spreading rumors; he’ probably just jealous, since he’s supposed to be the famous one. Although almost choking on the Snitch did gain him a bit of attention, as he nearly rejoined his parents-”  
“Malfoy.” Hermione warned.  
Malfoy was silent for a moment, and then he shrugged. “Sorry,” he muttered before returning to his seat. The Slytherins looked almost as shocked at his apology as the Gryffindors.


	4. Chapter 4

Professor Burbage’s room was chillier that week. As Hermione and Malfoy reviewed for the upcoming quiz, Hermione’s hand shivered as she moved her quill across the page, and Malfoy’s was almost shaking as he turned the pages in his textbook. The two had learned that Malfoy remembered information best by listening, Hermione by writing. Malfoy would read a section in the book aloud while Hermione would write it down. The arrangement seemed to be working so far, until Malfoy began speaking about someone named Thomas Edison.  
“Wizards have often compared Edison’s work with the use of the Lumos charm – Hermione?”  
The scratch, scratch of Hermione’s quill paused. Did he just call me…? Hermione looked up. Malfoy was looking back at her, waiting for a response. No, that was just my imagination. She swallowed and managed, “Yes?”   
“Could you please write a bit smaller? I’d like your notes to be invisible to both of us, not just me.” Malfoy jeered. His taunting relaxed Hermione.   
“I’m not just going to change my handwriting for you, Malfoy,” she said. Malfoy looked at her funny.  
“You think you’re writing notes for me? You’re the one who reads them later. I just want to make sure you’re writing down what I’m saying correctly. I’m doing this for you.” Hermione stared. “Looks like I need to, as your listening skills are about as poor as the Weasleys.” Malfoy snapped. Hermione gazed at him for a moment, then wrote “Lumos” in larger letters on her paper. Malfoy nodded before he continued reading.   
About half an hour had passed by the time the two were finally finished. As Malfoy closed his book, Hermione let out a small chuckle. The Slytherin stared at her. “What’s so funny?” he asked. Hermione tried to compose herself.  
“Do you remember, three years ago, in Snape’s class, when Goyle’s potion exploded? And your nose,” she paused to let out a snort, “happened to be in the way? God, it was huge. I knew you had a big head, but your nose-”  
Hermione burst out laughing, with tears welling under her eyelids and her chest heaving for air. When she finally managed to suppress her amusement, she looked up at her classmate. He appeared angry, but after looking at his tutor’s reddened face, he, too, couldn’t remain serious, or even insulted. The two burst out howling, tears running down their faces, lungs gasping for breath. It appeared the upcoming O.W.L.s, the pressures from their parents and the incessant studying had made them silly in the head. There was no longer Gryffindor and Slytherin, good and evil, right and wrong. They were just two kids.


	5. Chapter 5

By the next month, Hogwarts students were no longer breathing clear air. As puffs of white blew out of their noses, snow fell in their hair and on their cloaks. Mostly, though, it piled up to meet the students’ knees. Unbeknownst to most of the students, the teachers were just as fond of snow days as the students were. Hermione discovered this the hard way on her way to Herbology. As she took what she thought was a shortcut across the courtyard, her persistent trudging was interrupted by someone calling out, “Hermione!” She turned cloddishly to see Malfoy standing on solid ground between the columns Hermione had cut through. She groaned.   
“Draco, I’m already going to be late for Herbology. For Peeve’s sake, don’t bother me now,” she called back to him. Malfoy laughed.  
“See the massive amount of Herbology students heading in your direction? Oh wait, me neither. It’s been cancelled, Hermione! You’ve gone halfway across the courtyard for no reason.” Malfoy doubled over with laughter at the sight of Hermione’s boots sinking into the snow as she stood there in shock. She opened her mouth to say something, but he had already started across the courtyard to meet her. As he lumbered over clumsily, Hermione found it easier to ignore the sogginess in her socks. Laughing, she reached out to catch Malfoy’s arms as he stumbled over his own boot. He looked up at her with snowflakes on his eyelashes.   
“My class was cancelled too. Want to go get some butterbeer with me? You’d better get out of this snow, I’ve heard Muggle blood freezes rather quickly.” Malfoy joked. Hermione shoved him playfully, and he fell backwards into the snow.   
“Ha! I suppose I’ll have to bring your butterbeer out to you, won’t I?” Hermione teased. Just as she turned to go inside, Malfoy grabbed her ankle. She stumbled and turned just in time to catch herself, each hand landing on either side of Malfoy’s head. She looked down at him, chuckling at his innocent appearance. His black robes were practically white with snow, yet his cheeks and nose were bright pink with the cold. He was looking up at her with light in his eyes and a grin on his lips.

“Kiss me?” he asked. 

Before Hermione could act or answer, a familiar voice shouted, “I knew it!”  
Hermione straightened and saw the culprit; Ron, standing where Malfoy had been, with fury in his eyes.   
“Ron-” she started, but he showed no signs of stopping.   
“I knew there was something between you two! He’s tricking you, Hermione. I thought you were supposed to be smart, and now you’re fooling around with a Slytherin? Malfoy, no less? You’re a traitor. If you needed someone to make snow angels with, you should’ve just asked me. I can’t believe you.” As soon as he was finished, Ron turned and began rushing down the hallway.  
“Ron, wait!” Hermione pleaded as she hurried through the snow as fast as she could.  
“Stay out of it, Weasley!” Malfoy bellowed. Ron just kept charging in the other direction. Hermione managed to get on her feet and follow him down the hallway. She was able to catch up with him by grabbing the back of his robes.   
“Ron, I know this must seem strange to you-”  
“Strange?” said Ron, as he spun around to face her. “It’s…it’s…it’s disgusting. You have Harry. You have me. Why on Earth turn to Malfoy? Lucius nearly had Dumbledore fired three years ago. You really think he’s different from his father?”  
“Yes.” Hermione asserted, barely letting him finish. She heard footsteps behind her. She turned to see Malfoy standing there, wearing his father’s eyes, his father’s mouth, and his father’s skin. Wearing his soft gaze, his sideways smile, and his reddened cheeks. “He is not his father, because he sees me as more than a Mudblood. He is nothing like his father. He was raised by him, so he is similar to him in many ways, but he sees more. He sees…me.”  
By the time she turned back to Ron, he had disappeared. Hermione sighed. She and Malfoy then returned to their rooms without another word.


	6. Chapter 6

Draco stands over my bed, looking down at me. I pretend to be sleeping, but I can see his lean figure watching me breathe. It’s dark, yet I know it’s him. The moonlight shines off his blonde hair, off the muscles in his neck. He stands there, leaning against the bedpost, watching. My pulse thuds in my chest. I want to touch him. I want to feel his pulse beating in his chest, because I’m sure it is. I want to hear his voice.  
Kiss me.   
…  
Hermione sat up in bed, her hair dampened with sweat. She took deep breaths as early sunlight seeped through the window by her bed. It shone a square on the floor where Malfoy was supposed to be standing. She swallowed, and turned to the clock on the wall. Classes didn’t start for hours, and no one else was awake in the girls’ dormitory. Hermione began thinking…and then she stopped. She was tired of thinking. Absentmindedly, she slid out of bed into her slippers. She wrapped a bathrobe around her shivering body and tiptoed to the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth and attempted to tackle the tangles in her hair. Then she slipped out of Gryffindor tower and snuck around the school. Finally, she reached the Slytherin common room entrance, a stone wall.   
“Serpent,” she ordered. She had heard two Slytherins discussing the new password the day before. The entrance slid open, and suddenly Hermione was in the Slytherin common room. Not thinking was becoming more difficult. Still, she drifted in a sort of daze towards the sofa in the middle of the emerald room. The room was dark, but impressive, and the sofa was comfier than Hermione thought. Her eyelids began to feel heavy.  
“Couldn’t sleep either?” asked a voice. Hermione’s eyes shot open, only to see Malfoy standing before her in plaid green pajama bottoms and a grey t-shirt. She smiled at him. “You know, I think you have changed,” he continued. “I’ve began to expect a few rebellious acts out of you, but this, sneaking into Slytherin territory? Completely unexpected, I must admit,” chortled Malfoy. Hermione yawned at him.   
“I’ve decided to stop thinking. Thinking is exhausting,” she explained.   
“Not sleeping is also pretty exhausting,” Malfoy countered. “But I couldn’t really sleep either. I had a dream about you. We were sharing a mug of butterbeer, and you were smiling, and it was just us two…Sorry,” he interrupted, clearing his throat. “You don’t want to hear this.”  
Hermione grinned sleepily. “I dreamt about you too, Draco. It’s okay. I guess I just couldn’t sleep until I saw you again.” He smiled back, and slumped onto the couch next to her.   
“I’ll let you sleep right here, in the Slytherin common room, and I’ll stay awake so we won’t get caught,” he whispered softly. “As soon as I hear people waking up, I’ll let you know and you can sneak back into your bed. If you can only sleep here, then sleep here.” Malfoy’s eyes drifted to looking into Hermione’s, which were slowly closing.  
She let her eyes close as she laid her head on his shoulder. His shirt smelled like peppermint, and smoke after a winter fire. Malfoy watched her as she sank into peaceful unconsciousness. A faint whistle blew from her nose as she fell into a dreamless sleep.   
Malfoy struggled to stay awake, but watching Hermione sleep seemed more enjoyable than resting. He kissed the top of her hair and breathed in her smell. She smelled like oranges and milk chocolate. Malfoy smiled. He felt like he hadn’t smiled in a long time. When he was sure Hermione was fast asleep, he softly whispered into her hair.

“I love you,” he said.

Despite being sure Hermione was slumbering away, he could swear he saw the corners of her mouth turn up. Her smile was impossibly innocent.


	7. Chapter 7

Breakfast the next day was almost unbearable. Hermione refused to let herself look at the Slytherin table, for fear Malfoy would be either ignoring her, or even worse, he would look back at her, melting her. Ron and Harry were still sitting in front of her, chatting away, but only to each other. She hadn’t lost her spot at the table, yet she had never felt so lonely.  
Malfoy and Hermione met up later in the hallway, exchanging no words. There was a kind of warmth between them. Not warm enough to melt the snow, but warm enough to replace what words couldn’t say. They were together, yet completely and utterly alone. Hermione turned to Malfoy, trying to think of something to say, when a dark figure suddenly spun around the corner. The two students stopped.   
It was Lucius Malfoy.  
“Draco,” he said delightedly, “I’m glad I found you. I have made a decision about your education and was off to talk to Professor Dumbledore. How are you?”  
Malfoy stared for a second, and then cleared his throat. “I’m doing fine. Thank you. What were you going to talk to Dumbledore about?”  
Lucius smiled. “I’ve decided to take you out of your Muggle Studies class. It’s useless, really. I figured you had more important things to worry about.” There was finality in his voice, as if Malfoy didn’t have a choice. Malfoy frowned.  
“Thank you, Father, but I’m doing okay actually. I don’t exactly enjoy it, but Her-Granger’s been helping me study. She’s pretty good.” Lucius scoffed at him.  
“Well, of course she’s talented in a class like that, Draco. But you won’t need her anymore. Besides, I’m sure she has plenty of…Muggle friends to tend to.” Lucius looked at Hermione like she was an insect that needed to be squashed immediately. Hermione fumed.


	8. Chapter 8

That night, thunder shook the school and lightning pierced the sky. Hermione felt as if the weather reflected her thoughts. She couldn’t get Malfoy’s father’s face out of her head. Malfoy’s striking resemblance to his father gave Hermione goose bumps. She felt like her insides were frozen together, like ice lived in her veins, yet she also felt that she was falling apart. She hadn’t realized how her secret affection for the Slytherin had created all of this..losing her friends, becoming a traitor to her house. How could love ruin everything, yet hate cause nothing but order and structure? How had the hatred between Purebloods and Muggle-borns been viewed as normal, just even, for so long, while the love affairs between them had remained just that: affairs? Was Hermione even in love? She couldn’t, and wouldn’t, say. Everything had gone horribly wrong. Defeated, confused, and frustrated, Hermione decided to climb into bed. Falling asleep took too long, and when she finally did, nightmares attacked her throughout the night. Mafloy’s father occupied most of them.  
The next morning, Hermione practically had to crawl to Muggle Studies. It didn’t help that the class was completely empty when Hermione got there. Or, at least, it seemed that way without her crush in green. Hermione didn’t even take notes, that day or the next. She couldn’t find the point.   
During her third class, Hermione nearly fell asleep. She was startled awake when the classroom door banged open, in the middle of Professor Burbage’s lecture. Malfoy stood in the doorway, a fierce expression on his face. Professor Burbage looked at him quizzingly.  
“Sorry I’m late,” he announced. The class began whispering. Professor Burbage just stared.  
“I understand I won’t get any credit for attending, but I figured I should take it anyway. I’m going to have to learn something about Muggle-borns, due to the fact I’m falling in love with one,” Malfoy explained. Hermione’s jaw dropped as Malfoy sauntered to his seat next to her, ignoring the gaping faces of his classmates. Professor Burbage pursed her lips, shrugged, and continued the lesson.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione caught up with Malfoy in the hallway. She had just escaped a lecture from Umbridge and needed some comfort. As she affectionately bumped against his shoulder, he turned and smiled. Hermione gave a sigh of relief, then dropped her books and pressed Malfoy into a tight hug. There weren’t any other students in the hallway, but the two wouldn’t have noticed anyway. As they broke apart, Hermione looked at the sleepy trance on Malfoy’s face and giggled.   
Suddenly, Malfoy was yanked off of Hermione and thrown to the ground. Hermione looked up to see Harry and Ron standing over him, disgust written all over their faces. Malfoy looked up at them with fire in his eyes. “Do you mind?” he spat. Ron rolled up his sleeves and clenched his fists. Hermione gulped.  
“I’m sorry if seeing us made you uncomfortable…” Hermione attempted. Her two friends didn’t even look at her. She opened her mouth again, but Malfoy shot a look at her that wasn’t short of a “shut up.” It was the first time she had really seen Malfoy scared. Harry noticed too.  
“Don’t play games with us, Malfoy. Just get to out of here. Acting all scared so Hermione’ll think you have feelings? We see right through you, you sick, twisted-”  
“Acting?” said Malfoy. “You think I’m perfectly happy just letting Hermione go, so I have to fake it? Up until now, I haven’t had anything to lose. Now I have everything I never knew I wanted. I know you don’t like me, but not everything’s about you, Potter.”   
Harry looked so furious that it took Hermione a moment to notice Ron pulling out his wand…and pointing it at Malfoy. “Ron, what on Earth are you-”

“Crucio.”

Malfoy’s face contorted with pain as his limbs twisted in ways they weren’t supposed to. In her shock, Hermione didn’t even think to grab her wand. She just watched, horrified, as Malfoy writhed on the ground, sweat shining on his pale face. Then a nearby voice echoed, “Expelliarmus!” As Ron’s wand flew from his hand, the muscles in Malfoy’s face relaxed with relief. Hermione just stood against the wall, frozen, as if she’d been Petrified. The caster of the disarming spell then emerged from the shadows, shock written all over her face.   
“Professor McGonagall?” Harry breathed. The tight-lipped witch lowered her wand, staring at the students in disbelief.   
“What. Is. Going. On. Here.”   
Malfoy stumbled to his feet. “The weasel nearly ruined me, that’s what’s going on here,” he said. Despite the strength in his eyes, his voice shook. Professor McGonagall nodded.  
“I can see that. Wizards who’ve mastered the good spells often turn to the bad. I’m sure Mister Weasley here is a victim of that. Sounds quite familiar to a certain wizard who faintly resembled Harry at one point, doesn’t it?” the teacher asked. Harry nodded.  
“Tom Riddle.” Professor McGonagall bowed her head.   
“He was lost. I never thought it would happen to one of you. Look at you. You’re practically children. Mister Malfoy and Miss Granger clearly both value their educations. Mister Weasley and Mister Potter value doing what’s right. You all seem to value loyalty and friendship. You were all raised in completely different environments and by completely different people, but that shouldn’t make you enemies. You all have lessons to teach each other, and isolating and torturing Mister Malfoy will not help that. One hundred and fifty points from Gryffindor, Mister Weasley, along with confiscation of your wand immediately. The Unforgivable Curses are not taken lightly here. You are all now banned from leaving Hogwarts grounds. If I hear even an intimation of an insult from any of you, I promise you immediate expulsion. Return to your common rooms. Now. I shall walk Mister Malfoy to the hospital wing to have him examined and then it’s off to bed to all of you.”  
After Ron handed Professor McGonagall his wand, the students scattered, Malfoy grudgingly following Professor McGonagall. It had been quite a night.


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione’s plate slid off of her fingers onto the table. Her whole body felt weak, her head empty but stuffed at the same time. She sank into her seat and began twirling her fork. The smell of scrambled eggs made her nauseous. As she pushed her plate away, she noticed a slender figure in black and green walking towards her table. A million different emotions hit her at once. As she stood up to meet him, he raised his hands in surrender and informed her, “Madame Pomfrey cleared me. No mental illness, no long-lasting trauma.” Hermione sighed in relief and relaxed back into her seat. Malfoy sat across from her and placed his hands on the table in an oddly professional fashion.  
“I have something to say that will make you upset,” he said. “I think…us seeing each other…is over. It’s over, Hermione. I can’t watch this happen to you anymore.” He sniffed and rubbed his knuckles together. Hermione nodded, surprising even herself.  
“I understand, Draco. I’ll miss you, but this will just hurt both of us in the long run. Ron could’ve seriously damaged you.” She paused to watch tears swell in Malfoy’s eyes. “I’d still love to share a butterbeer with you sometime though.” She smiled, wiping away a tear of her own. She felt like her lungs were filling up with water, yet she kept a grin on her face as she stood, turned, and left the room, leaving Malfoy alone.  


Hermione tossed and turned for hours before finally relaxing that night. She had strange dreams. She dreamt of flying home on a broomstick, of being a victim of the Crucio curse instead of Malfoy, of swaying in the arms of someone who smelled vaguely of peppermint. She could almost hear his footsteps, carrying her away. Somewhere safe, she imagined.  



	11. Chapter 11

Hermione woke up freezing. She didn’t open her eyes at first. She listened, smelled, and tasted. She heard bodies shifting and faint moans, as if her roommates were having nightmares. She smelled fish and dirt, like someone had spilled an unfortunate potion on her way to bed. A bitter taste filled her mouth, danced across her tongue. She began to rise, wanting to untangle her sheets, which felt wrapped around her like ropes. That’s when she realized she couldn’t get up. She couldn’t move.   
They were ropes.   
Around her wrists, waist, and ankles. She wasn’t in a bed, she was in a chair. She opened her eyes and the final piece of the puzzle was realized. She wasn’t even in her room. She was in a dungeon, with stone walls and no windows. She wasn’t alone.  
In the form of a semicircle facing a wooden door to the right, six other chairs were lined up in the room. Each chair was holding a person, each person tied to a chair. They had all been beaten up beyond recognition. Even if Hermione knew them, their bruises and cuts had buried their identities. A witch with long dark hair was moaning softly and staring at the ceiling. There was blood in her teeth, and she kept spitting it up with each groan. She was so thin, so small. She was wearing just a tank top and thin pajama bottoms. She was only wearing one slipper, and even that was stained with blood. Despite her frightening state, she seemed to be the only one who wasn’t unconscious or half-asleep. Hermione leaned forward in her chair as best she could.  
“Hi,” she said. “My name’s Hermione Granger. Do I know you?”  
The girl shook her head as her chest lifted and fell. Her breathing was becoming more labored with each breath she took. “I...don’t think so…” she murmured softly. “My…name’s…Billy. I…I’m a first year. How old….how old are you?” Her voice was shaking. Hermione tried to smile.  
“I’m a fifth year,” Hermione answered. “You’re going to be okay Billy. You’re going to be okay.” Billy attempted a smile too. Her lips shook, her mouth leaked blood. “What house are you?” Hermione prompted, trying to distract the girl from her pain.  
The door suddenly swung open. Two figures walked in, both wearing dark robes. One was taller, one was shorter. Their profiles were eerily identical. The Malfoys.   
Hermione struggled against her restraints as Lucius and his son stopped in the center of the semicircle. This had to be a nightmare. This couldn’t be happening.   
“I see that some of them are starting to wake. I was afraid you had killed some of them, Draco.” said Lucius. Hermione’s blood ran cold. He did this? He had nearly murdered some of these people. Some of these children.  
Lucius turned to face Hermione. His smile faded. “Miss Granger here looks perfectly healthy if you ask me. You skipped a step. She’s useless like this.” His voice was icy. A chill ran down Hermione’s spine. “Were you unable, Draco? Not strong enough? I thought I taught you something. Perhaps I was wrong.” His words seemed to torture Malfoy, whose face twisted like he had tasted something disgusting. Lucius raised his eyes to the rest of the victims.   
“I figured I should explain why you have all been brought here. The looks of shock on your faces will help when we have to explain how you died.” Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. “I decided to use the help of my son to gather up Mudbloods. I believe I have discovered a new curse, and I would love to experiment. If I’m wrong, you’ll die anyway. Memory charms aren’t always effective, you know.” His grin was not unlike a wolf’s when he zeroes in on his prey.   
He stalked over to the first victim, a chubby, curly-haired boy with peppery freckles on his nose. Malfoy watched his father from a corner in the room. Hermione watched in horror as Lucius lifted his wand to barely touch the boy’s head. She listened as he whispered, “Dolore Mortem,” a curse Hermione had never heard before. The boy’s head lolled to the side, his eyes glazed over, and his mouth exerted a final breath. He was dead. It had happened so quickly.  
Hermione felt her throat tighten, as if it was trying to stop her from screaming. Lucius didn’t even bother to close the nameless boy’s eyes as he moved to the next chair. Pride was written all over his face. Panic began to set in as Hermione realized Billy was the third chair. The inhabitant of the second chair had already passed. He had died staring at Lucius, fury in his eyes. Lucius took a step towards Billy’s chair.   
“Ravenclaw!” Billy suddenly shouted. She was struggling against her restraints, trying to get to Hermione, with a wild look in her eyes. “I’m in Ravenclaw!”   
Hermione swallowed a sob and nodded.  
“Dolore Mortem,” uttered Lucius.  
Billy’s last breath echoed off the stone walls.   
Hermione burst into tears. “No, no, no, no, no!” She shrieked. Tears poured down her cheeks. She spat the salty water out of her mouth. “You bastard! You insane, heartless monster!” Hermione began throwing herself towards the murderer. The ropes burned against her skin, but she refused to give up. Lucius watched her, his face void of emotion. When Hermione finally realized it was hopeless, she gave in, hanging her head in exhaustion. She gasped for breath as her nose ran and she swallowed her tears.   
“Draco,” said Lucius. “We can never kill her like this. She needs bruises, cuts, broken bones perhaps. What will we say when her body is found?” Hermione began shaking.   
“Father, I…” Malfoy’s voice trailed off. His eyes drifted to Hermione’s blotchy face. Then something seemed to snap within him.   
“Of course, Father,” he said. His face had gone blank. He began walking towards Hermione with his hands clasped behind his back. Hermione began gasping for breath. She felt like her head was spinning. She was so dizzy that she didn’t even see Malfoy’s fist rise in the air. She did, however, feel the full force of his punch against her nose. As her head snapped back, she tasted blood. She tried to say something, but her voice sounded like a child being strangled. Malfoy seemed to raise his fist again in a blurry vision. Two versions of him slammed their fists against Hermione’s jaw. Hermione stared at the ceiling in shock. He’s hitting me, she thought. I can’t believe he’s hitting me. Malfoy raised his fist again. Tears swelled in his eyes and slid down his cheeks. His hand quivered. Time seemed to stop.  
“Again, Draco,” ordered Lucius. Malfoy clenched his fist tighter. Still, Hermione suffered no further blows. Lucius’ jaw tightened. “Again, Draco,” he said through gritted teeth. Malfoy bit his lip and took deep breaths through his nose. His fist hung in midair. Hermione began to raise her head. She looked into Malfoy’s blue eyes. To Hermione, seeing him in pain was like being punched again. His father was glaring at him as if his stare could make Malfoy move, but it didn’t. Malfoy was frozen in front of Hermione, staring at her bloodied and bruised face. One of her eyelids had started swelling, but her other eye looked straight into Malfoy’s. I know you’re in there, Hermione begged. The boy I fell in love with is still in there. Malfoy seemed to nod, then slowly lower his fist.   
Lucius suddenly shoved Malfoy aside. “Fine, I’ll do it myself. I thought I taught you better,” he snapped. He then grabbed Hermione’s throat with one hand and pulled back his fist to hit her with another. Hermione braced herself for the pain.   
“NO!” roared Malfoy suddenly. Grabbing Lucius’ cloak, he yanked his father to the ground and began pounding his fists into his face. Malfoy seemed to be winning, until his father’s hands came up and wrapped themselves around Malfoy’s neck. Hermione screamed as Lucius stood and threw his son against a wall, tightening his strangeling grip. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, and an impossible strength took over her body and tore through her ropes. She managed out of her chair and lurched forward, grabbing Lucius’ hair and pulling on it as hard as she could. Lucius grunted in pain and toppled backwards. Hermione stared in shock at her fingers, which were holding bloodied chunks of long, blonde hair. Malfoy was slumped against the wall, shaking. There were red marks the shape of fingers along his neck. Hermione reached her hand out to help him when suddenly Malfoy’s eyes got wide. Hermione whirled around to find she was facing the end of Lucius’ wand. A wild gleam was in his eyes.   
“We can just dispose of your body, Hermione,” he hissed. “No one will ever know. Goodbye, little Mudblood. Dolore Mor-”   
Everything was a blur, as if Hermione had been violently pushed, and then she was staring at the stone ground. She felt her pulse in every inch of her skin. I’m alive? she thought. She looked up. She was lying in front of Billy’s chair. Billy’s hair had casted a shadow over her face, as if closing her eyes for her. Hermione turned to see Lucius standing, holding his wand loosely. His head was lowered. His son was sprawled out in front of him. No, Hermione thought. No. No. No, no, no, no.   
She crawled over to him and began shaking his shoulder. “Draco,” she said. “Draco, get up. You’re okay.” Panic set in. “You’re okay, Draco. Please. Wake up.” He just lay there, stomach down, facing away from Hermione. Lucius’ wands slipped through his fingers, falling to the ground. He sank to his knees.   
“My son,” he breathed. He put his hand over his son’s hair. His fingers wove through the sweaty blonde strands. Hermione stared in shock as Lucius began to sob. “I killed him,” he cried. “I killed my son!” He broke down, burying his face into Malfoy’s hair. Hermione began shaking Malfoy with more force.   
“Draco. Come on. You’re not dead. Wake up. Wake up. I’m right here. I love you,” she said, her voice cracking. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” Tears began streaming down her cheeks and falling on Lucius’ fingers. “I never got to tell you. You have to wake up so I can tell you. Malfoy. Wake UP!” She pulled Lucius off of Malfoy and turned him over. She gasped; his eyes were open, but empty. His mouth was closed. His body was still, no pulse under his skin. There were smudged tears on his face, as if his last moments had been spent crying. Hermione brushed the droplets off of his skin gently, even though he couldn’t feel it.   
“You were supposed to take me out for butterbeer,” she whispered.  
Light suddenly flooded the room. The father and witch looked up to see Hagrid and Professor Dumbledore standing in the doorway. Relief washed over Hermione.  
“Professor,” she said. “I need your help. You must know how to reverse this curse, right? Dolore Mortem. Draco was only affected a few minutes ago, so it must be easy to bring him back…” Hermione’s voice trailed off. Professor Dumbledore was shaking his head.   
“Miss Granger, I…I’ve never seen a curse like this before. There may be no way to reverse this. I’m so sorry. I’ll take him to the hospital wing, and we’ll do all we can. But his heart has in fact stopped, no?” Hermione nodded, swallowing a lump in her throat. The headmaster sighed. Hagrid began sobbing, big fat tears rolling down his face and into his beard. Then he walked across the room and began scooping up the dead students, carrying them outside.   
Hermione just knelt there. She closed Malfoy’s eyes with her fingertips and kissed each of his eyelids. She put her hand on his forehead, then leaned down to kiss his cold skin before standing. She watched Lucius follow Professor Dumbledore out. He was explaining how long he would have before leaving for Azkaban. Lucius nodded at him. He seemed to only be half-listening. She watched Hagrid lift Billy from her chair, easily snapping the ropes around her, and carry her out. She helped him gently lift Malfoy’s body and watched Hagrid carry him out too. As Hagrid turned the corner, Hermione gasped. Harry and Ron were standing outside. She gaped at them for a moment before hurrying forward and falling into their arms, weeping. They just held her, letting her grieve.


	12. Epilogue

The next few months were recovery time for Hermione. Despite her friends and professors helping her heal, she still went to Professor Burbage’s room after class and waited for the student who would never come. When the realization of his death would hit her, she would still sit there. There was nowhere else to go.  
Her relationship with Harry and Ron was tense at first, but as Hermione began to heal, so did their friendship. They began talking more at lunch and even taking her out for butterbeer when she had free time. Eventually, she began helping Ron study in Ancient Runes. It distracted her, but nothing would ever make the pain go away. Sometimes she would cry for hours before falling asleep. She was allowed to skip classes if she couldn’t bring herself to try learning, but she never ditched. She and Malfoy had valued their educations, and she knew he wouldn’t have wanted her to give up on school. She never forgot him, yet she forgave him. Her bruises healed the fastest, her swelling went down. But her memory never faded. And when she dreamt of him, she would wake up smiling to the smell of peppermint and smoke.


End file.
